


Lifecycles of Perennial Plants

by subjunctive



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter tries to figure out this whole leader thing, and Rocket picks up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifecycles of Perennial Plants

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hokuto for looking this over!
> 
> I started writing this in my head while I was still in the theater, before it was even over, so I was pretty pleased by baby Groot ending up in a pot. :)

Peter glanced around. Their enemy had been defeated, and all the Xandarians they'd saved so heroically--at great possible cost to themselves, he might add, not that he was bragging or anything--had begun circling around. He still had his ship, always a good sign at the end of an interesting day, and now, he thought with a puff of pride, his own crew. Gamora was still smokin', and Drax was looking like--well, like he wasn't going to kill anyone soon, which Peter counted as a win.

"Come on, Quill," Gamora said. "Let's get the ship ready." Rocket was ignoring them, though, and that was what had caught Quill's attention. The little guy was hunched over with a pile of Groot-twigs clutched to his chest. Gamora made an impatient gesture.

“Yeah. Uh, wait.” He was a leader now, right? He had responsibilities now or something.

Gamora rolled her eyes and went to board the ship.

Peter watched as one of the Xandarians nearby reached out to examine one of the Groot-pieces still lying on the ground, looking curious.

Peter heard Rocket's answering growl in the back of his throat. "Give that back," hissed Rocket, swiping at her hand and missing. The Xandarian just looked confused, which seemed to only make Rocket more pissy.

He was now officially an intergalactic hero. Heroes would jump in to save her from the crazed look in Rocket's eye. Peter slid in between them - the king of smooth, he liked to call himself, another nickname that for some reason hadn't caught on either - and placed a friendly hand on her arm.

"Ah-ah-ah," he said with a smile, gently plucking the twig from between her fingers and holding it out behind him for Rocket to take, which he did with a snort. "I'm so sorry, that's very important to him--to us, to all of us--it's part of a very special tree, you see."

She looked at him skeptically, which was--actually, a pretty normal response to Peter.

Peter lowered his voice, trying to inject as much significance and personal pain into his words as possible. “It’s all that’s left of a friend of ours. A _dear_ friend. Who died as we were, you know, rescuing you guys and everything.”

He heard Rocket snort from behind him again, which quickly erased the sympathetic look beginning to appear on the Xandarian woman’s face. As she disappeared back into the crowd, Peter turned to Rocket with a scowl.

Whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips when he got a good look at Rocket, whose eyes were red-rimmed and whose shoulders had a dejected cast.

“Hey, buddy,” he tried, rocking back on his heels and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

His only response was a sniffle. An angry sniffle, but still.

Peter dropped onto a nearby rock, feeling at a loss. That wasn’t a totally unusual situation for him, as he mostly flew by the seat of his pants, but being responsible for someone else, having to worry and care about them--that part was new. And not, he was gathering, as much fun.

“So, uh.” Peter squinted down at him, trying to feel out what Rocket wanted to hear. But he was giving Peter a fat, frustrating load of nothing. “You and Groot were really close, huh?”

He could just see Rocket glaring at him fiercely from the corner of his eye. Peter thought about what he was gonna say and decided to plow ahead anyway. It always worked for him before, right?

“So, you know, there might still be hope for Groot--” 

"He's matchsticks, you idiot!" yelled Rocket, while the Xandarians around them murmured in concern.

"I'm just saying, maybe it's not the end!" Peter protested. "He's not like you or me, right?"

"It's not the end," Rocket said to his Groot sticks through an angry sniffle. "It's not the end, he says. What does he know? What makes you such an expert, _Star-Lord_?" he said mockingly.

Peter could feel his hackles rising. "Look, when I was a kid, my mom had this garden, right? She grew all kinds of stuff, watermelons and peaches, you name it. Anyway, she was telling me one day before she _died_ how some plants, they might seem like they're dead, but--" Surreptitiously, Peter checked Rocket's face for any signs that he might be on the receiving end of a plasma blast, but decided it was safe - or safe enough. "Even if you pull off the stem or something, sometimes it'll grow back, get some new roots or something."

"Great," Rocket muttered wetly under his breath. His snout was beginning to crust with snot. "Now he's a horticulturalist."

That _was_ pretty much the extent of Peter’s knowledge of plants (not to mention flora colossi), not that he was going to admit that to a raccoon.

“So, like,” because Peter never learned, “it’s a good idea to save some twigs. I mean--” At Rocket’s expression he quickly changed course with a little confusion. “Branches?”

Rocket raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head, like even being around Peter was such a burden.

“Well, anyway, save them and we’ll put them in a pot, and give it some water. He’ll totally grow back. I think. I hope.” Peter rallied the last of his inspirational speech skills, which, okay, sucked. He was gonna have to work on that. “All we can do is try, right?”

Rocket didn’t say anything, but he did stand up a little straighter and brush himself off with a free paw.

Peter heard the ship’s engines fire up. “So let’s go back to the ship. Or--I think Gamora’s gonna leave without us.”

“Like you would mind the opportunity to chase her down,” Rocket grumbled.

Peter felt like he should be offended, but couldn’t muster it up. “Okay. True.”

They started toward the ship, whose door was still, thankfully, open. Rocket looked down at the bundle in his arms and appeared to take a quick head--twig?--count. “You think thirteen’s enough?”

“That sounds like enough.” Peter couldn’t help the note of impatience.

“You sure? I could get some more--”

“Rocket, I’m gonna leave _you_ behind.”

“No you won’t. I’m too valuable.”

This was, irritatingly enough, true. Or maybe Peter had just gotten attached to them; it was hard to tell the difference. “Come on. We’ll make a stop near an actual city on this planet and see of they have some potting soil. Someone who knows about growing flora colossi.”

"Can't believe you brought out the big guns like that," grumbled Rocket, clutching the Groot sticks to his furry chest. "Dead moms. Sheesh."

"It's not like I had a choice," Peter pointed out. "You were all, _what are you, a horticulturalist?_ You were gonna kill one of those guys. Or, like, die on a pyre of Groot or something. Extreme measures, man."

"This what it's gonna be like now?" asked Rocket as they boarded. "You dispensing the quaint folk wisdom of your backwater planet?"

"Sounds good to me," said Peter breezily, oblivious to Rocket's scorn. The hydraulic door hissed as it pulled up behind them.

Rocket snorted. "Could be worse, I guess," he said, and then the door sealed and they were off.


End file.
